One Does Not Choose to Become a Refugee

I joined (TSOS) “Their Story is Our Story” because I believe stories are the best way to keep the sense of humanity alive. Narratives have the power to connect people regardless of background or differences. Additionally, I believe there’s a huge need and gap in telling the stories of Afghan women. I’ve seen all too often how politics overshadow the real stories of real people.

During my internship at TSOS, I was constantly brainstorming ways to share Afghan women’s stories with my supervisor, Dr. Liz. One day, she surprised me by asking, “Heela, why don’t you start by telling your own story?”

My immediate answer was, “Another time.” For me, the stories of women still in Afghanistan felt far more important and urgent. Also, the pain of being forced to leave my homeland was still too raw, too close to the surface. Every time I want to write about it, it feels like walking on embers with bare feet.

A few months ago, my dear friend Julie Nasser asked me how I’d been feeling since the Taliban took over Kabul. I said, “It’s like being a soldier who lost the war, lost an eye and an arm, and woke up in a hospital bed in exile, only to find out your entire country is on fire.”

That’s how I’ve felt for the past three years. And the worst part is knowing that my pain is nothing compared to what the women still inside Afghanistan are going through.

If I want to tell my story as a refugee, the first thing I want to say is this: One doesn’t choose to leave their homeland, one doesn’t choose to become a refugee. It’s a forced displacement, a story of loss and longing.

I will start my story from the summer of 2021, when Afghanistan was still a Republic. It was a challenging time, with war raging around Kabul. The conflict was so intense that I could smell the blood in the air, and everyone I spoke to was anxious and worried about what would happen next. Despite the uncertainty, I remember many moments of walking in the mountains with my father, discussing what I should study for my master’s degree to serve my country better.

Between 2004 and 2021, Afghanistan faced numerous social, security, and economic crises, but amidst it all, there was hope. We believed in a brighter future, where education and hard work would empower the next generation of women. Despite the challenges, Afghan women pursued education, careers, and leadership roles, striving to uphold women’s rights.

In August 2021, Kabul fell while I was preparing for my final exam and bachelor thesis defense at the University of Economics in Prague. My original plan was to study in Europe, learn, and then return to contribute to Afghanistan’s development. However, the sudden collapse of Kabul dashed not only my dreams but also those of countless other women and girls in Afghanistan.

War, I always thought, was a nightmare. But when the Taliban took control, a darker nightmare began for women and girls. The Taliban imposed strict policies of inequality, restricting women’s freedom of movement, education, work, and even how they dress.

Imagine young girls barred from school, their dreams of becoming doctors or teachers shattered. Tears welling in their eyes as they watch from their windows the boys head off to school. Imagine women, once doctors, teachers, and engineers, forbidden from pursuing careers they’ve tirelessly trained for.

The day I defended my bachelor’s thesis with an A, a day that should have been a celebration, I found myself alone in a quiet corner of the university. My notebook lay open before me, but my mind was blank. Graduation wasn’t a happy milestone; it was a stark reminder of the future I had lost. It was clear I couldn’t return home. I knew I had to begin the process of changing my student visa to an asylum visa. It took a year to finally receive my travel document. It was a year of uncertainty, waiting for a decision, navigating complex bureaucracy, and fearing the unknown.

The day I finally got my travel document, I was so tired of everything and everyone. On those days, I escaped into reading about Vienna, a city rich in history and art. It even became the setting for a short story I was writing. I thought a quick trip to Vienna might give me space to breathe and recharge. The day I got my travel documents, I asked the lady who issued them in the immigration office if I could travel to Vienna with this. She told me, “You can travel anywhere you want to, except your country.”

I still remember the day vividly. It was a cold, gray, stormy April morning. When I left her office, I took a long walk, and I cried until the last tear my eyes could produce that day. The idea that I can go anywhere I want but home left a scar on my soul that I will always remember, and I would not wish it upon anyone.

Even though I know I cannot go back home for now, it’s impossible to forget home. For me, it’s like I’m physically in one place and emotionally in another, and I have to make sense of both. There’s no way around it. I have to build my career and life in Europe, yet I must find the time and ways to help my homeland. It’s tough, but possible, and that’s okay. I understand that constantly trying to make sense of two different worlds and cultures can sometimes be challenging. I also believe that integrating into a new culture and country does not mean one has to give up all the values they grew up with. Furthermore, understanding that full integration doesn’t require forgetting your own country and culture is important. Christmas is my favorite time of the year, but nothing makes me as happy as celebrating Nawroz (Afghan new year) in March. Every single time I walk in Prague’s old town, I feel like I am in a fairy tale, and I absolutely love it, but Kabul is still the city of my dreams.